


talk like an open book

by stereosymbiosis



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-10
Updated: 2014-01-10
Packaged: 2018-01-08 04:43:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1128477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stereosymbiosis/pseuds/stereosymbiosis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your name is Roxy Lalonde, you’re a super secret spy on a super secret mission, and you’re a little intoxicated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	talk like an open book

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kindlyclears](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kindlyclears/gifts).



You’re pretty sure you’ve never worn a tighter dress before. Bubblegum pink, sure, sparkly and bedazzled, _definitely_ , but tight outfits make it hard to hide your handgun. Thankfully there’s a ruffly bit of fabric that perfectly conceals the bulge of your weapon on your thigh. You can feel the holster rub comfortingly against your skin every time you take a step as you walk further into the casino, martini glass wobbling precariously in your grip.

Your name is Roxy Lalonde, you’re a super secret spy on a super secret mission, and you’re a little intoxicated. That’s nothing new, really, and you’ve successfully beaten down the bad guy after having a few glasses of wine more than a few times. It wasn’t until you botched up one mission so badly that your ex-partner (who you were a little bit in love with) totally ditched you for a different partner (that _he_ was a little bit in love with) after calmly telling you that he couldn’t deal with your drinking anymore. So you and Jane, both recently eighty-sixed, had kind of fallen into a strange sort of partnership that you didn’t think would work at all but it totally does. And since that happened, well, you’ve scaled back the drinking on the job, but one glass doesn’t hurt for appearance’s sake.

Your phone vibrates in your clutch bag, and you pull it out to read the message while pretending to fix your hair in the screen’s reflection.

gutsyGumshoe [GG] began pestering tipsyGnostalgic [TG] at 23:49

GG: She’s at the roulette table. You know what to do.  
GG: If you’re not out in 20 minutes, I’ll come find you.  
GG: I’ll be the dashing one with the mustache.  
TG: hehehe i bet u look so cute w/ a mustashc  
TG: mustache*  
GG: Hurry, or you’ll miss her!  
TG: god im goin im goin i know wut im doin calm ur pretty lil upper lip hairs

You find your way to the roulette table and you see your target immediately. It would be kind of hard to miss Vriska Serket, since she’s probably the only person in the whole casino wearing a tighter dress than yours, although hers is a nice, subdued cerulean unlike your glittery monstrosity (and no _way_ is she hiding anything under that dress). You’re here to recover the eight million dollars that Serket made away with before she gambles it all away, and it’s now or never.

You stumble against the roulette table perhaps a little too dramatically, your clutch bag slides out of your grip, and you throw your arm out to find some purchase -- that purchase being Serket’s shoulder.

“Hey, watch it!” she snarls, turning away from the roulette table to give you the stinkiest stink eye you’ve ever received.

“Oh God, I’m s-so sorry!” you hiccup, bending down underneath the table to exchange your bag for hers, making sure you grab your phone, and thankfully Serket’s still using the same bag she was seen with last week, otherwise you’d never have been able to match it. You pop back up, making sure to wobble unsteadily in your heels and bump into some other nearby people. Serket rolls her eyes and returns her attention to the roulette table, and you mentally cheer as you wobble around the corner and out of sight.

You dig through the clutch and pull out her room card, and man, this is just too easy. It’s no problem to convince the concierge that you just forgot your room number since you’ve just had _way_ too many drinks tonight, and he leers at you as he runs your card through the scanner.

“You’re in room 888, madam,” he says, and you grab the card right out of his hand and slur over your shoulder, “Now, how ever could I have forgotten that?”

You head to the elevator and jab the button for the eighth floor with one thumb while typing out a message with the other.

TG: easy peasy!!!! rm 888 meet me there or be sqaeur  
TG: squar*  
TG: SQUARE****

The elevator doors silently slide open and the eighth floor is just as quiet. Room 888 is, of course, all the way at the other end of the hallway near the emergency stairs. You head down the hallway, the muffled clack-clack of your stilettos against the carpet the only thing you hear. You slide the key card into the lock on the door and it lights up green -- fuck yes -- and you’re in.

You flip the light on and you can’t believe it, the briefcase is right there on the bed in plain sight. You kneel on the bed to open the latches on either side and the lid opens just as the hotel room door clicks open behind you.

“Janey, we’ve got it, let’s get the hell out of here--” you say, about to turn around, when you feel the unmistakably cold metal of a handgun pressed against the back of your skull.

“Oh, I don’t think so,” Serket says, pressing the gun against your head even harder, and you’ll be damned if she messes up your perfectly coiffed hair. You knew this whole thing had been too easy.

“Okay, okay, but,” you start to say as Serket grabs you from under your arm and hauls you up to your feet, “seriously, where the _fuck_ did you pull that gun from?”

“It’s a secret,” Serket smirks, and you try to elbow her as she edges you toward the door, but she’s way taller than you (which is saying something, because you are hella tall) so it’s hard to get leverage, especially since she’s got you grasped by the armpit, of all fucking places, and it’s so ridiculous but it kind of tickles and you have to stop yourself from laughing. You make a grab for your own gun in your thigh holster but she twists yours arm behind your back, one after the other, still managing to hold her gun to your head.

Serket twists the doorknob and throws the door open. She clearly doesn’t expect to see a hotel porter with a handlebar mustache wheeling a food cart right in front of her door, because she stops in her tracks.

Before you even know what’s happening, the porter -- Jane, of course, who else would wear a handlebar mustache in this day and age -- whips the lid off of the platter and throws, with wicked force, what looks to be the most delicious pie you’ve ever seen right in Serket’s face. She stumbles back and lets go of your arm, and Jane shoves the cart in her direction, flattening her up against the wall, and you hear her head bang against it with a sickening crunch. You brush some stray whipped cream off of your arm and run back in to grab the briefcase and throw it out the door to Jane, along with the gun taken from Serket’s loosened grip.

“Pie in the face? Really?” you say as you pull the door closed carefully behind you.

“Years of pranking practice has finally paid off,” Jane says cheerily, and the mustache flutters against her lip as she talks, and it looks so ridiculous, but so cute at the same time -- it’s just so perfectly _Jane_ that you can’t help but smile back at her.

“Let’s bounce!” you say, probably way too chipper for someone who’s just had a gun pressed to their head, and you skid out into the hallway and run down the emergency stairs, Jane at your heels.

Much later, when you’re a hundred miles away and across the county border, lounging on the bed in your shared hotel room, briefcase stashed safely away, you say to Jane, “You know, we work pretty well together.”

She smiles, and she kind of looks like human sunshine, lighting up the whole room, and you’re not even really that drunk anymore so you have no excuse for thinking that. 

“Well done, partner,” she says sincerely, extending her hand for you to shake, and you grip it in yours but you lace your fingers with hers instead. Jane doesn’t look surprised, but rather like she knows that this has been coming, although her round cheeks get a little pinker. The skin between her nose and upper lip is pink, too, from where she ripped off her fake mustache earlier, and it looks a little tender.

“Dirk would have just tried to turn this whole thing into a lesson for me, or something,” you say, and you kind of hate yourself for bringing it up, but you guess it was inevitable. “Like, he would’ve made me get away myself instead of coming to help me, just to see if I could. And I mean, I totally could, but that’s still not really a cool thing to do.”

Jane brushes the pads of her fingers against the back of your hand and it feels like sparks going off against your skin. “Jake and I mostly had trouble communicating,” she says, and you suppress a laugh, no _shit_ they had trouble communicating, but you’re not entirely successful. Jane flicks your wrist, but she’s still smiling, so you know she’s not mad. And that’s why you two work so well; you can just tell what she’s thinking from looking at her face. She’s an open book, really, at least to you, and you’re pretty sure she can read you just as well.

You’re right, because she leans over and presses her lips against yours, which is exactly what you want. It takes a little time for you to get Jane out of her clothes, mostly because you pause every time you manage to get a button undone just to kiss her. Your dress is a whole other matter; after hours of wearing it, breaking into hotel rooms, being held at gunpoint, and running for your life, it’s practically adhered to your skin, and you have to jump off the bed to peel it off. You feel really unsexy, and you get your head stuck in the dress when you try and shuck it up over your shoulders, but when you finally free yourself Jane is just staring up at you and smiling that way that she does, and you decide it doesn’t really matter that you looked kind of stupid for a second there.

You climb back on the bed and hover over Jane, pressing the length of your body against hers, and there is seriously no better feeling in the world, not even hacking into the most carefully guarded government files, or stealing the King of Wherever-You’ve-Been-Assigned’s entire collection of gemstones or whatever the fuck. Jane presses one of her thighs between yours and your skin is still a little raw from where you had the gun holster strapped around your leg, but you don’t care, you don’t give a shit, you just roll your hips down to meet Jane’s and press kisses up and down her neck. You pull the skin between your teeth and suck, and Jane moans so prettily, pressing her palms against your ass and pulling you in closer.

You lift your body and she keens, arching up to follow you, but you press her down with a gentle hand between her breasts. You kiss down her neck, her collarbone, her chest, her round belly, until you smooth your hands over her soft thighs and she spreads them open. You kiss her thighs, slowly and teasingly, and when you finally press a kiss against her clit she moans and oh fuck yes, you’ve hit the jackpot. You press your face between her legs, sliding your tongue up and down between her lips and swirling around her clit, and you can feel her wetness all over your face but you don’t care, she just tastes so fucking good, and you’d take the taste of her over even her finest gourmet cake any day.

She fists her hands in your hair, urging you to come closer, to go faster, and you slide your arms under her thighs and grip her hips as you lick into her. She rocks her hips into your face, and her soft keening turns into loud moaning as she comes. You can feel the orgasm pulse through her through your tongue, and you kiss gently between her legs as she rides it out.

Jane pulls you up to kiss you, even though she’s still shaking a little and your face is still a total fucking mess, and yeah. You really do work well together.


End file.
